where to now?

winter is coming / maybe south? maybe more south? / a love-hate letter to Australia / a surf road-trip along the west coast of Europe / a catamaran trip around the world

Maybe south. FranceSpainPortugal…and then?

Maybe more south. IndiaIndonesiaAustralia…and then?

☾

I am back in my little cabin in the southern part of the UK my furry shadow in the shape of a cat firmly pressing his little warm body against my side as I tap at my laptop keys willing little pieces of my heart out of my fingertips to share with you.

My 8-month mentor training that you have been reading about across the past month started this week and I am in between live training calls today. The shift from externally facing business work and output to internally facing business doing the actual work is palpable. I notice that I have withdrawn from the clamour a little while I recalibrate.

The weather outside is grey and wet. 17°C. Winter is coming.

If I didn’t know I was leaving in three weeks I would be crying but instead, I am laughing because I am leaving three weeks. It was a fast and short six-week on-and-off summer here in the UK.

An anticipated disappointment.

This morning I spoke to a very nice car salesman who told me he would help me sell my car before I go.

I’ve sold all my other furniture already, except for the desk and the bed. The rug that I have shipped across the world several times will get rolled up and put in storage in a friend’s garage with one other bag that will stay behind for now.

Where to now?

☾

Australia is a strange place.

Not my home but sometimes the closest thing. Many formative years spent there have etched a love for the country.

There is something about those endless skies, the vast open space, the scorching bright light. Everything is more alive, more wild, more dangerous. The ocean, the wildlife, the sun.

Every beautiful thing has malice to it.

As a young girl, I learned to be wary of long grasses and concealed foliage. At any moment something that wants to kill you might appear. Even now when I walk through gentle European landscapes my eyes search for evidence of a poisonous snake or spider, a magpie attack or a vicious lizard hidden somewhere.

I have skills most of my friends don’t.

I can open a coconut with a machete in three short hacks. I can identify most tropical fruits and herbs and can tell when something is good to eat. I can look at the ocean to determine whether it’s safe to swim and where, or not, based on the movement in the waters. I can walk barefoot on any ground, my feet instinctively finding safe pockets to balance on, without being marred by rough surfaces.

Sometimes I watch people without the same wildness in their spirit clumsily fumble through nature being pitted by its elements and feel a superiority in my feral heart.

Australia gave me to myself.

It taught me to find peace and vibrancy in the terror and brutality of life.

I miss the smell of the eucalyptus and the feel of the paper bark under my fingers. I miss the unbridled wildness and the freedom you can find when you get far enough away from civilisation. I miss the instant community formed through the shared obstacles of navigating this treacherous land.

Australia.

A country that is rough and raw and honest its bigotry and vacuity. That will readily opt for toxic positivity instead of squarely addressing what is truly going on. Punctuated by the cultural archetype of the "battler" — the idea that people should work hard to earn just enough to survive — is deeply ingrained in the national identity. With little room for more delicate and nuanced ways of being.

I did find my people there.

But they are not the average Australian. As they are not your average Brit or average European or average American. There is nothing average about the people I claim as mine.

It’s been 10 years.

I think of it often. More now, than before.

☾